


Journey of the Sorcerer

by SpeedyDoggo



Series: A Year to a Day [2]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 20:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 13,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeedyDoggo/pseuds/SpeedyDoggo
Summary: They say our history lies at the bottom of the catacombs, and we will not be leaving it for dead.





	1. Week 01

### January the First

Hello, world. That’s what you’re supposed to say when you first start something up, though I guess it’s supposed to be on a computer, and not on paper like I’m doing here, but I don’t think it matters.

Hello, world. I’m going to die.

It’s not fatalistic of me, I assure you, and I’m not suicidal, either. It’s just a fact. I am poorly equipped for this venture, and if I don’t starve, I will surely die of hypothermia. The scouts, apparently, had neglected to tell us that the temperature of these passages was not remotely habitable. I can already feel frostbite approaching.

Why the chairman decided to send an intern in here is beyond me. Don’t they have professionals they could send? Surely there was a better choice! They’ve just sent me here to die, didn’t they? There’s not even a way back. The door just vanished behind me!  
I already have a will but given the circumstances, I feel I should update it.

Sarah continues to get none of my things. It all goes to my best friend, Jaime Nichols. This is, provided, that I die of natural causes in some way, shape, or form. If I am hunted down and slaughtered by the monsters that are most certainly down here, then all my possessions go to whosoever slays the beast and avenges my death.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Second

It’s absolutely freezing here, you know. I don’t know who decided that this assignment should be undertaken in the middle of winter -- probably the same people who sent an intern down alone -- but I’m really very poorly equipped. I’ve lit a torch; there were quite a few unlit ones down here for some strange reason. I’ve been keeping it burning with other torches mostly, but I’m finding odd little bits of things. It looks like it might be fur, or some very soft plant. I can’t tell anything except that it’s flammable, which I suppose is good enough for me. I’m hardly dressed for the weather, and it’s dark as sin besides.

I thought about hanging near that door, you know, seeing if anyone would realize the mistake and come get me. That was my plan, actually. I’m not what you would call ‘particularly strong of heart.’ So I waited there for a bit, and then some cacophony sounded on the other side and I decided that the monsters might be the more comfortable death.

Though I have yet to see any, so perhaps I’m truly alone down here.

I am unsure if that would be a good or a bad thing. It would certainly provide a challenge.  


> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Third

I saw a rat today. I was concerned about rations, but I suppose that I will be able to solve that problem when it arises.

### January the Fourth

Apologies for my lack of sign off yesterday. I became consumed by an urge to experiment with these rats, testing to see if my magic would be able to trap them in some manner. I was unsuccessful, and thus I will starve some time next week.  
The cold isn't helping. Try as I might, not even the warmth of the torch is enough to loosen my fingers long enough for a proper working. I've tried channeling through my staff as well, but results have been mixed. Something is strange about the magic down here, and I'm wary of using my own stores at the moment.  
I suppose it is something I will be figuring out as I continue on.  


> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Fifth

As I continue deeper into this labrynthine catacomb, it occurs to me that I have yet to see any human remains. While I would like to take this as hopeful, I must wonder if there could be caretakers or scavenging beasts removing the bones from my sight. Still, if scavengers were the cause of this emptiness, then surely I would see the larger, heavier bones remaining?  
Though perhaps this is a topic I should leave for another day.  
My thoughts are filled with death. They usually are, I admit. Nothing in my life has hinted to it being particularly long, and I've come to terms with that. Long gone are the days I've lamented over my condition, and now perhaps all I can revel here is that I will at least die an interesting death. The pain would only be temporary, though I must say, hypothermia is not as quick as I would like. Why couldn't a prayerhound come and rip my heart out instead?  
I suppose that would be wishful thinking, though perhaps only to me.  
The cold makes me tired, but I'm used to tired. I've been trying my magic so rarely, and allowing myself to rest for hours in between. Progress is slow, but I'm told that legend speaks of something at the bottom of these catacombs. If desperation didn't push me forward, curiousity would.  
That is enough musing for tonight. It's Saturday, isn't it? Perhaps I'll give myself tomorrow off and spend the day looking for something warmer.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 


	2. Week 02

### January the Sixth

It is Sunday, and so I am taking the day off. It is the start of a new week, and while I am in a survival situation, I have allowed myself to rest. I amused myself with feeling out the magic in this place, though I have nothing concrete.  
My current working theory would be that it is simple unused to human presence. Using it leaves a dusty taste in my mouth, and it is slow to respond to my commands. No matter. I can adapt, provided I live long enough to.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Seventh

(Top half of page is marred by bloody finger prints.)  
Hello.  
My apologies for the mess. I underestimated the force required to kill a rat.  
I have never killed anything before.  
I wanted to write about it and spill my thoughts so I could organize them, but I had already touched the mess and now I've lost half the page. I suppose that's fine.  
I don't quite know what to write anyway.

>   
>  Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Eighth

I do not know how to cook rats. The flesh is tough, at least with my fire, and I barely understand how to skin them. I don't know what to do with the pelts, either. They dry slowly, and the sight of the blood sends me reeling each time, not because it's blood but because I am responsible for making it see the light.  
That is the worst part of it. I do not enjoy creating death, but that is what I must do, isn't it?  
I'll keep going through the night. I cannot change the fact that I have killed and skinned rats, tugging them apart with tremulous hands. I cannot clean myself of the blood, and the copper smell invades my nostrils. I keep thinking it's mine.  
It's usually mine.  
It hasn't been, lately, but it's only a matter of time. I've used so much of my magic today, it is inevitable that something inside will be faulted.  
Anyway, I am off now. I will leave the pelts behind and attempt to forget them, even if it is a futile task.

>   
>  Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Ninth

I have yet to stop moving. I feel sick, more than I should after eating and drinking. Perhaps I have used too much magic, but there is no pain at the moment, so I must wonder what is different now.  
I highly doubt I'll find out at this rate. If this progresses as it typically would, then I'll be dead within the week. I find I've been writing that a lot, which would be concerning if death wasn't such a constant companion for me.  
Regardless of my health, I will continue on. I feel a slight descent as I move forward, which I expect is a good sign for finding the secrets that are said to lurk within these tunnels.

>   
>  Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Tenth

I still feel ill. It will do no harm for me to rest now, and if it does, death is inevitable.  
It has always been thus.

>   
>  Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Eleventh

I haven't eaten today and I still feel nauseous. The illness must be my own, exacerbated by the cold. I show no other symptoms at the moment, so I will count my blessings and continue onward.

>   
>  Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 

### January the Twelfth

Apologies for another short update. I feel weak and unsettled, and the shivers wrack my body to the point where it is difficult to walk. Still, I continue. The torches I light for warmth do run down, you know, and as near as death is, I do not intend on meeting him so soon.  
It doesn't feel like it, but I'm supposed to have twenty three more years.

>   
>  Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth  
> 


	3. Week 03

### January the Thirteenth

I've been thinking about Sarah lately. We've been together since we were born and have scarcely spent more than a few days apart since. She's always been looking out for me, but now that I'm alone, and have been alone, more has been required of me.  
Despite the nausea, I must eat, or I will starve. I must locate the food myself, or I will starve. Additionally, against all I wished to stand for, I must kill my food myself, or I will starve.  
Sarah would not have blinked at any of that. Her life would not be in such peril, for she would frighten it away.  
My other needs, I am able to tend to. Water has froze upon the walls and floor of the tunnels, and I am able to heat with my torch. It is difficult, but it suffices.  
So I am surviving. Not as well as Sarah would, but well enough. Even if I do die soon, I think she would be proud of my efforts.  
At least, I hope she would be.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

PS  
Sarah, if you do end up reading this after my death, know that I love you, and looked up to you in every way.

### January the Fourteenth

I'm managing. I've located a staircase and as I am unsure of where it leads, I hesitate to descend. The idea of remaining here, however, is even less promising. I will investigate tomorrow.  
In less pressing news, my teeth itch. Perhaps the magic is leaving more than just a bad taste in my mouth.  
Though I must question how teeth can itch.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Fifteenth

I've started down the staircase. I don't believe this was registered on our maps, and the thought of discovery thrills me. There are some signs of life here, and I am certain it is not of the rodent variety. Rats are typically do not have blue fur, though think as I might, I don't recall any animals that do. At least, not in this dull shade. I've kept a sample in my pocket. Perhaps if I gain enough, I can make myself a fur coat, or even modify my robes. I could make needles out of all these little rat bones, should I have the stomach to do more than think about that.  
I've learned that settling myself with the thought of something is far different than settling myself with the action of it.  
Returning to the more pressing matter, however. The staircase spirals, and I count thirty-four stairs exactly before I reach a platform. There are only four platforms, the final leading into a hallway type area, the end of which I cannot see. I currently rest on the second platform, which is the first below the floor from which I came from.  
It is artificial, clearly, being firstly a rounded room with smooth walls. It keeps in no heat, but the torch burns brighter and hotter here than anywhere else.  
An examination of the magic here causes feverish symptoms, and unfortunately there were no corners for me to vomit in. The far side of the room sufficed, and I have resolved not to touch the magic in this area. Though it seems quick to respond, it is easily as quick to turn against me.  
This room has three exits, none of which I have explored in depth, but seem to end shortly judging by a short visual examination.  
The third platform is similar, but with the exits in a different arrangement. Also a distinct lack of my vomit.  
The reason I write from this platform is, upon reflection, a tad silly. In an attempt to decrease the itching, I have sat with my face against the icy wall. It helps, though the angle I am at in order to write is awkward, to say the least.  
I will end here. My eyes are beginning to hurt from the strain.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Sixteenth

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
(Page Left Blank)

### January the Seventeenth

Apologies for the lack of entry yesterday. I slept longer than I intended.  
I had ventured into one of the exits on the first platform and encountered a room that had been covered with moss. After a few additional explorations into the other exits, I found little else of interest. Distracted by my itching teeth and muddled by the foreign magic, I resolved to nap in the moss room. It was warm and delightful, and I suppose I fell into a deep sleep.  
I feel well rested, and my teeth have stopped itching. I write this now in the morning, to make up for yesterday's lack of update. I will write again in the evening.  
(A line has been drawn across the page, separating the two sections.)  
Hello again. It is, by my estimate, evening now. I explored the second platform and came across more of that blue fur, as well as what I could only describe as a small, unattached mound of flesh.  
I left the room quickly and hunted rats for the rest of the day. If I utilize the magic on the very first floor, I can create a working to preserve the meat, as if I had salt with me. I did not expect to be manipulating the fourth dimension for such a mundane purpose, but such is my life.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Ninteenth

I found quite a bit, but I'd like to have more information first.  
Yes, I could write down what I have, but what would be the thrill in that? I'll write it all down when I've explored the whole place. If I die tomorrow, then it will be an intriguing secret.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth


	4. Week 04

###  January the Twentieth

I write this sitting at a desk, accompanied by the remains of some medium sized beast. Whether it was human or not, I am unable to tell, but the bones, skin, and anything that would let me identify its origin are gone. The only reason I do not leave is because this is the only desk I've found, and the flesh is frozen and doesn't actually smell like much.  
The lowest level of this staircase was not what I expected from something labeled as 'the catacombs.' Of course, I couldn't have expected much besides skeletons, which I have seen a distinct lack of. Perhaps this should have been named 'The Tunnels of Weird Flesh Blobs,' given that this is the second I have encountered.  
Because I know one of you (hello, Sarah) would dare me to eat it, no I will not. I don't know where any of this has been. Well, I suppose it's been on the floor, which is just unsanitary. The only thing I will admit is that it seems like whoever caused this specific mound of flesh was very careful to only remove bone, though not having taken biology since high school, I can't be sure.  
That, however, is not the only oddity I discovered here. This bottom hallway is not lined with doors but instead with cages. The metal is rusted and warped, allowing me to easily assume that whatever was inside was either removed or had simply left on its own. The temperature is likely below freezing; my breath fogs up as I wander the hall. Even now, as I write, I must pause on occasion to warm my hands. I had to place the torch in a wall sconce, and its heat does not reach to the desk.  
There was nothing in the cages outside of a sense of loss. At the end of the tunnel was something peculiar. A large symbol had been carved into the wall, but something had marred it to the point of no longer being recognizable. What I could see, however, was the burnt in symbol of a dragon.  
This is, of course, leading into another reason why I, an intern who is not fully trained for this, should not have been sent down here. I believed I knew a working that would allow me to peer into the time the wall was so damage. I placed my staff in front of me and braced myself, believing that all would be fine.  
All was not fine.  
The magic here is wild. Like a hurt animal it lunged at me, and the next I knew, I was laying haphazardly on the stairs. A bit of the bottom of my staff has been taken out, and I was bleeding very profusely from my head and nose. Notably, there are slight burns over my palms, which I assume are related to the burn in the wall.  
I feel distinctly unwanted here.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

###  January the Twenty-First

I've taken most of the day attempting to recover from my mishap. I don't feel as though I have a concussion. My coordination seems fine, and I do not seem to be missing any memories other than those between the attempted working and ending up on the stairs. My vision is somewhat impaired, but as that could also be a symptom of magical exhaustion, that does not lead to any conclusions.  
What I do know is that something terrible has happened here to roil the magic. If I knew what was in those cages, or what had produced the flesh in this office, perhaps I would have some sort of an idea.  
Without that information, then it is clear that the best decision is for me to leave this area, and not return without further information.  
So I write this after making my way further into the tunnels, though progress is slow. With my vision darkened, I hesitate to move quickly.  
I just hope my food supply will last until my vision clears. If not, then I'll be looking to death once more.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

###  January the Twenty-Second

I am certainly in tunnels, and there are certainly rats. The amount of rats may even been increasing, though I refuse to attempt a census.  
My vision is still odd, but improving. Death is still nigh but perhaps less nigh than I previously guessed.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

###  January the Twenty-Third

(This page is just full of scribbles.)

###  January the Twenty-Fourth

Today I am staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what is happening.  
Yesterday, my vision changed to something I can only describe as a corruption. I believed I had created a legible entry, when in fact I had only scribbled on my paper. This, coupled with my current nearsightedness, makes me wonder if my working had done more than I expected. Gazing into the past is not a common action, so unknown side effects are not wholly unexpected, but are concerning nonetheless.  
In my haze, I have made progress. The cold here penetrates my robes and cuts through my sweater, but if I am to do anything useful, I must carry on.  
It's odd. Here I am alone, but I keep thinking of Sarah. I consider what she would say to me, what she would comment on, and I find myself responding.  
It hasn't yet been a month; I shouldn't be going mad so soon. Although, as far as madness goes, there are worse symptoms than imaginary conversations with one's sister.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Twenty-Fifth

I'm going downwards. Occasionally I slip on bits of ice, which is a sign that something might be changing. There haven't been puddles before, so I must wonder where this water came from. I don't hear any running water, though perhaps it is old still water that froze quite some time ago.  
At least there is no risk of mosquitoes down here.  
I've imagined Sarah to urge me on, and so this is only a short break. My eyesight is slightly improved from yesterday, so I can hope that I will be back to normal soon.  
What is not, and likely will never be normal, is the magic down here. I can feel it pressing down on me, worming its fingers into my robes, and trailing itself along my body as if to examine me. It's looking for something, though I know not what. After the incident in the cellblock, I have to ask: does it think me an enemy?  
Perhaps it does; magic has always planned to kill me in the end.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Twenty-Sixth

I am no longer alone down here. After some time I passed beneath a colored archway. The temptation to make a working to see its painting crossed my mind, but so did the carving in the cellblock, and so I refrained. My footsteps echo in these tunnels, but so do the clawed feet of some unknown animal.  
It is not the skittering of rats, but the gait of something larger. A dog, perhaps, though I cannot be sure. It paces and moves around me unseen. I feel as though it is taking advantage of my diminished sight.  
However, it is not a problem I am dealing with today. I have yet to see it in person, and thus I can safely ignore for now.  
I only hope it does not find humans appetizing.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth


	5. Week 05.0

### January the Twenty-Seventh

My travels were interrupted by a series of screeching barks and what sounded like a small explosion. I did not feel safe going anywhere after that.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Twenty-Eighth

I roamed slightly in the direction of yesterday's noise and found a pile of flesh and blue fur.  
I no longer wish to find out what this creature is.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Twenty-Ninth

The magic is now alert and reactive, almost too much. After an examination of me, it now leaps to my very thoughts. I guard myself carefully, drawing in as little as I can manage. It is unfortunate, I think, that one as sensitive as I am the one down here. I only hope that there will be no ill effects from this.  
My vision is clearing. I have found little else at the moment.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Thirtieth

My eyes hurt and my teeth have started their itching again. I carried on as long as I could before the sensations became too distracting. My torch is dying out and I am not of the mind to feed it. To do so, I would have to explore and scavenge more fuel, or otherwise turn it to mage fire. Both are solutions I cannot bear to do at the moment.  
I write this in the dimming light, occasionally with my eyes closed. I put it in the header, but I have been in these catacombs thirty days. All things admitted, that is far more than I expected to have. Would you be proud of me, Sarah? I don't think I did as well as you could've, but for me, I think that's quite impressive.  
Whoever sent me down here must think I died on the first day. Joke's on them; I figured it out for a while.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### January the Thirty-First

I am not dead. Let's start there.  
Though my torch is dead, I can still see. I have used no working for this, and so it should be impossible. When I used the working in the cell block, something must have gotten into me, and the dimming of my sight was the changing of my eyes, not the destruction of them.  
My teeth are similar. I've run my fingers over them, and as far as I can tell, they are far more bestial. I am no expert in teeth, but even I know that I had more than just one set of molars to work with.  
I believe I understand why the magic has taken such an interest in me now, or at the purpose of it.  
I must find a way to insulate myself against these effects. Otherwise, I fear for what I will become.  
My name is Blake Aberforth. I am a temporal mage in training. I was sent down to the catacombs to search for lost artifacts containing evidence of our history.  
I have a sister named Sarah and a best friend named Jaime.  
That is who I am, and that cannot change. It will not change.  
I am Blake Aberforth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so that's it for January. Now that we're settled into our stories, you can now send us wrenches, as described in the rules that Marus has put... somewhere. I think in the series description. Love him and his organization.  
> Anyway, send us wrenches at: https://curiouscat.me/speedydoggo


	6. Week 5.5

### February the First

It has become warmer now, but only slightly. The puddles are still ice and I am still freezing, but not as much as I was before. With my new eyes, I am able to see much more than I could before. The darkness no longer bothers me, at least.  
I continue to hear the clicking of claws on stone. Whatever creature owns those claws, I still have yet to see. I witness its leavings, its torn apart prey and shed fur.  
I think I prefer this. The clicking, far away. Even if I am curious, I feel it is better for us to keep our distance. I don't know why; perhaps it is another thing this magic has installed in me.  
I hope it's just an avoidance of this other creature. Did you know there's a fungus that takes over the mind of its host and makes it separate from the group. The host becomes a loner, and away from the flock, it dies. I'm already away from the flock, or herd, or whatever you'd call a group of people, but if I made it back, what then? Would I still want to be alone? Would isolation still be my only comfort?  
I do hope not. I like being with people. At least, I like being with my friends and family. I don't want to avoid them because some eldritch catacomb magic snuck into my brain and rearranged the wires.  
That said, I continue on. Perhaps I can find a cure within these tunnels, or at least a way out.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### February the Second

There's a sweet scent in the air. I hope it isn't some disturbing thing masking its own horrors.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth


	7. Week 06

###  February the Third

Against my better judgement, I have decided to investigate the sweet smell. It lead me down a hallway where moss grows readily upon the walls. It's wet here, and I must wonder from whence the water comes. Perhaps if I can find and follow it, I can find my way out of here instead of going ever deeper.  
There's a new manner of clicking in the halls. They are slow, and steady, and they are extremely unsettling. I picked up my pace, not wanting to encounter whatever that particularly was, and found myself in a larger room. As far as I can tell, it contains the same kind of moss as the chambers near the cellblock did, but in greater numbers and better health. It is a deeper green, and the sweet smell seems to come from here.  
Most interestingly, it is warm. The moss must be responsible for the heat, as the moment I stepped into the room, the cold stopped.  
The magic here seems to be inert, which I will count as a blessing. I don't believe I could handle it if it were still invasive.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### February the Fourth

I am utilizing the moss room as my current home base. Being in a maze, forward progress is difficult and I'd prefer having some place to return to instead of meandering through the halls and sleeping where the other entities can find and slaughter me.  
I suppose they could do it in the moss room. I hear corpses are good fertilizer.  
They don't seem to want to come near it, however. Occasionally, the quadrupedal one follows me, but alters course when I near the moss room. The bipedal one seems to be unaware of my presence, but I hardly ever hear their steps when I am in the moss room.  
I must wonder if the dead magic has anything to do with it. I am not affected, but could these be creatures of magic, repelled by the unsettling feeling of it all. If there is a test I can run, then I shall do so shortly.  
I personally have felt no new changes. I have been seeing Sarah more, rather than hearing her. I have been hesitant to talk in this place, so I suppose this is how that particular hallucination is manifesting now. I still don't mind it. It must be a good thing that I still delight in her presence, false as it may be. Provided I remind myself of reality, there can be no harm in it.  
The rat population is lower here. I imagine the quadruped has something to do with that.  
I only hope it leaves enough for me.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

_(Below is a messy scribble of what appears to be a map. The 'Moss Room' is in the center.)_

###  February the Fifth 

I continue to make little progress, but a curiousity burns in me. I have been practicing moving silently so that I may approach the other entities without their notice. So far, I have been unsuccessful.  
There is little else to report. I ventured further into the maze but have experience little of interest, except for the magic, which I am sure is grateful for every chance to molest me some more.  
I have considered living in the moss room, with it's dead magic, for the rest of my life, however long that ends up being.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

_(There appears to be an extension to the map from the previous page)_

###  February the Sixth 

The moss's scent grows sweeter, and I find that it is beginning to bud. As wondrous as this is, some part of me feels that I should move on soon. Sarah seems to represent that, constantly urging me farther and farther from the moss room each day. As reluctant as my logical mind is, I do not enjoy the anxiety my subconscious is placing on me. I may move on simply to find some calm, though I can't imagine finding it with the magic as it is.  
I continue to practice my soft steps. Sarah appears to mock me whenever I am noticed by the bipedal, but I will make progress. At least, I shall do my best. I've learned the distance at which the bipedal keeps from the moss room, and so during each failure, I am able to escape for safety.  
My food supply continues to deplete. I am supplementing my catches with the dried meat I had before.  
I feel this does not bode well.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

###  January the Seventh

I have caught sight of the bipedal, but only for a moment. I saw a flash of off-white as I attempted to sneak closer, but clearly it became aware of me and moved away. I found it odd, but I suppose it would rather get the jump on me than interact at all. It does occur to me, however, that I have yet to see any hostility from it. Perhaps I have jumped to conclusions too quickly.  
The quadruped continues to walk in a random way. I do not recall if the paths of the two creatures have ever crossed. It is something I will watch for.  
I passed the flesh pile from before, the one with the blue fur in it. It made me think of my rapidly declining food stores and I picked up my pace away from it.  
Not today, Sarah.

> Signed,  
>  Your brother

###  January the Eighth

I have resolved to catch better sight of the bipedal. I shall report my findings tomorrow.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

###  January the Ninth 

I encountered the bipedal, though I admit the situation was not to my liking.  
I came across them rather unexpectedly, which appeared to be what they wanted. They attacked me, and I struggled as they shoved me against the wall. I could scarcely breathe, and in my mindlessness, I reached for my magic.  
The results were unexpected.  
The bipedal was a skeleton, taller than I, and my thoughtless working seemed to wrap skin upon them. The world shifted, and I, too, felt different. I shouted at her in a language I do not know, and the skin across my face felt stiff and difficult to stretch. Still, I shouted, and the ~~woman~~ skeleton staggered back.  
The world seemed to shift, bone replacing flesh and vice versa, but I found myself not wanting to stay long. The edges of my vision were becoming dark, and I had to stumble back to return to the moss room.  
My hand trembles as I write this, and Sarah calls me a fool for thinking I could sneak up on the likes of them.  
To describe better: the bipedal is a skeleton. They are taller than me, but not by much, and when clothed in flesh, are a pale skinned woman in a guard's uniform. I can only assume this is where the flesh in the cellblock came from.  
As for my own feelings, my face remains unblemished.  
I speak only one language, and nothing feels odd when I open my mouth fully.  
I can't imagine who these people were, to have left such an impression on the magic.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WRENCH USED: NUDITY  
> lmao i showed a boner


	8. Week 07

### February the Tenth

I spent much of my time today hunting for rats, but I fear this location cannot stand for two predators. The quadruped, being born for such a task, is outcompeting me. I cannot fault it for this -- it is its nature -- but some part of me is furious, urging me to confront the creature and do something about it. Sarah, too, feels that I should, but given what I have heard of it before, I hesitate.  
The skeleton I avoid as well. My vision flickers when I near them, and so I make it my business to do exactly that. Whatever working I impulsively created, it has affected them for the longterm. Thus, I must make it a goal to move on, so that I do not damage or otherwise alter the already insolent magic in this place. Tampering with magic in such a way is dangerous, and already I feel weaker for it. I must wonder now: should I escape this place, how much longer will I have to live? How many years is this place stealing from me?

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### February the Eleventh

I have been distracted by many things.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### February the Twelfth

I will now elaborate on those things that distracted me.  
The first is that I continue to encounter the skeleton, but the changes that come when I near her have become more intense. As I approach, I feel a coat, not my robes, swish behind me. The tunnel becomes smoother, less worn, and the woman appears again in full flesh. When I notice this, I attempt to block off my magic, to stop the working, but workings of time care little for mortal wishes, particularly those who just wish to undo their mistakes.  
It is this that makes me feel that I must move on from this place, so that I may no longer encounter the skeleton.  
I also caught wind of the quadruped. It has blue fur and is fast. That is all I could find.  
Sarah thinks I should have put a bit more effort into. I, enjoying what life I have, think that I have put exactly the necessary amount of effort.  
I shall end my entry here. I am still making my way out of this maze.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### February the Thirteenth

This is most certainly a maze. I am getting dizzy from my rationing, and I am unsure when I will find another food source. My progress is manic and slow, but I have been keeping careful track of the twists and turns. It is all I can do in this situation.  
In my weakness, I rest now against the wall. On a whim, I looked up to the ceiling, which I have not done often for obvious reasons, the chief of which being that everything I have encountered has had the good graces to start itself on the ground rather than the ceiling.  
I use no torch, but the ceiling shimmers anyway. They are likely small gems, unearthed from when the tunnel was formed, and when my vision flickers, I can see them as gentle, decorative streak. Time, it seems, was not kind to them.  
As I drift off to sleep, I will imagine them to be stars, shimmering above me. I imagine I feel the wind ruffling my hair, bringing with it the scent of something else. I imagine soft grass beneath my hands, such that I can pluck in a fit of childish boredom.  
For the most part, I imagine the night sky. My father was always a fan of it, of it and the old world. He used to speak of me about something he called Oppy, which always made me smile, for my father is a serious man and the name 'Oppy' is anything but. He said it was an explorer of another world, and that it was only thought to last ninety days. It lasted fifteen years, he told me, and as he said, I knew he was grasping at hope. I don't know what Oppy was, but I think it was made to last. I was not.  
That will not stop me from trying my hardest to carry on.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

(A more detailed and updated map of the maze has been drawn.)

### February the Fourteenth

I am currently busy getting through this maze. Sarah's quips are not helping.  
I feel as though I should remember something about this day. I suppose it's not important; if it is, I'll remember when it's no longer relevant.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

(Updates to the map have been made.)

### February the Fifteenth

It's discount candy day and I'm stuck in some catacombs with the hallucination of my still living sister, a dead woman, and some weird blue thing.  
This is quite unfair.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth :(

### February the Sixteenth

Desperation concerning my dwindling food supplies has driven me to the, objectively and subjectively, worst resort. I had passed by another pile of flesh, the origins of which I could not determine but can suspect, when Sarah reminded me of my current predicament. I attempted to ignore her once more, believing that I could simply hunt down more rats, when she brought to my attention that we had not seen any during the whole week. Having not eaten yet, and convinced to conserve what little resources I had, I scooped up what I could of it and cooked it.  
It tasted fine. Perhaps it could have used some spices, but I am hardly in a position to turn up my nose at unseasoned meat.  
Questionable meals aside, I have begun to feel a breeze. Whether this is a trick of the fumbled working or a real movement of the musty air, I don't much care. With all that has occurred, I shall take hope where I may find it.  
I will simply request that, whatever entity is providing this breeze, there is no bright light to go with it.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth


	9. Week 08

### February the Seventeenth

Mazes in these dark places have a purpose. They were not built for the amusement of tourists, for who would lead a tour into a place such as this? This is not a place the living are meant to dwell. The magic thrums beneath my sight, accepting me but only just. As someone slated to die, I understand the reasoning.  
But again, this maze was not made for entertainment. The actual purpose, I could not know. The time it served this purpose has long since passed, leaving only bones and faded carvings on the wall.  
There are cells behind me and a guard stalking the maze with me. On occasion, I can hear her coming closer, attempting to do her duty once more. I am no prisoner, but in her context, I suppose I am a jailbreaker. Having never done anything illegal in my life, this is an interesting turn of events.  
The breeze, perhaps, is a honey trap. The cool air is pleasant on my face, and I so desparately want to go to it. It must come from somewhere, and I am inclined to find out what it is. Against my better judgement, I am following it.  
I am descended deeper into the catacombs.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth 

### February the Eighteenth

I continue to follow the breeze. It seems to twist and turn, just like the maze. The ground becomes more slick as I approach, and I leave the clambering steps of the guard behind. I still hear the quadruped's clicking claws, and I come to the realization that this is either a creature who does not hunt by stealth, or one that does and cares little that I know it is here. I dislike both options, and have occasionally changed course away from the breeze to keep my distance from it. It seems to me that maintaining this distance is more important than discovering the secret, for there must be one, behind this breeze.  
The tunnels seem to have tightened. Where once I could lift up my staff by the bottom and not touch the ceiling, the same action allows me to tap my staff upon the stone. The walls have similarly come closer. After backtracking to a previous section, I have been able to determine that the tunnels narrow from ten paces to seven. It is possible that the narrowing is a type of deterrent, implying that things will only become more claustrophobic the closer one gets to freedom. However, this guess does not stand up when one considers that the exit to the surface is in the opposite direction.  
I shall continue exploring.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth 

### February the Nineteenth

The breeze is steady now, and I am able to close my eyes and imagine the surface. Sarah always enjoyed hiking. I was always too ill to join her, though now I feel energized by the cool air. It is odd, I now realize, that I have not felt exhausted as normal since my eyes and teeth were altered. In these situations, I would usually have to rest at least once every few hours. Lately I have been able to continue for the whole day before becoming tired enough to call it a night. This is, perhaps, a side effect I am not against.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth 

### February the Twenty-First

I am making steady progress. I have only my boredom to report.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth 

### February the Twenty-Second

I have found, surprisingly, more tunnels.

### February the Twenty-Third

That is not another tunnel.


	10. Week 09

### February the Twenty-Fourth

(The writing on this page is illegible.)

### February the Twenty-Fifth

There are flowers here.

### Le Vingt-Six Février

(The handwriting is different.)  
Tabarnak.

### Le Vingt-Sept Février

(The different handwriting continues. It's sloppier, almost rushed, compared to the usual careful lettering that has become the norm.)  
Il fait beau et chaud ici, et les fleurs dégagent un parfum agréable. J'pense que ce sont des narcisses, bien que, je ne sois pas certain. Ils sont jaunes et j'aime bien. Ils sont comme le soleil, ou du moins comment j'imagine le soleil.  
Je me demande depuis combien de temps ça fait.

### Le Vingt-Huitième Février

(There are three very detailed drawings of flowers.)  
\- The first is similar to a daffodil, though the petals are long and circle halfway down the stem.  
\- The second could be a tulip, but the petals appear to be teeth.  
\- The third is a normal voodoo lily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week was meant to be fairly incomprehensible. It just be like that sometimes.


	11. Week 09.5

### Le Premier Mars

C'est sombre. Mon feu a des problèmes ici.

### Le Deuxième Mars

Oé, que penses-tu de moi?


	12. Week 10

### March the Third

(The handwriting is back to its usual neatness.)  
I have had a very harrowing time and I don't speak French.  
I write this first so that I may feel as though I am reassuring someone. Perhaps it is odd to think that this is a sort of dialogue, but I feel it is necessary.  
The tunnel I encountered was not so much a tunnel but an opening to some dark place. I was about to step away, not being able to see even with my new eyes. My decision, however, was vetoed when something pushed me into the void.  
(There are various scribbles on the next few lines.)  
I don't know how to explain it.  
I don't think I want to. I'm sorry.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### March the Fourth

I don't know how to feel about the other writing in this journal. Sarah says it wasn't her, and I believe her. She doesn't speak French either; it was never relevant to us. Our mother used to scold us over that, saying that we should learn as many languages as we should, but we never took it to heart. Sarah didn't need to, not with her magic and her dreams, and I had decided there simply wasn't enough time.

>   
>  Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### March the Fifth

(The writing is illegible.)

### March the Sixth

It's too dark.

> (The scribbles below are assumed to be the signature, but they're difficult to read.)

### March the Seventh

It smells like paint.

> \- BA

### March the Eighth

Ears itch. Still dark.

> \- BA

### March the Ninth

Almost asked Sarah if she could see anything, then remember she's a hallucination of mine.  
The paint smell is stronger.

> -BA


	13. Week 11

### March the Tenth

The paint smell is actually nail polish. Sarah reminded me.

> -BA

### March the Eleventh

There is no change.

> -BA

### March the Twelfth

No change.

> -BA

### March the Thirteenth

Ear itch is unbearable.

> -BA

### March the Fourteenth

I think I missed something.

> -BA

### March the Fifteenth

Went back. Tripped. Found Orb.

> -BA

### March the Sixteenth

Sarah said lick orb. Bad idea.

> -BA


	14. Week 12

### March the Seventeenth

Hear slithering. Sounds loud. Ears itch.

> -BA

### March the Eighteenth

More paint smell. Getting hungry.

> -BA

### March the Nineteenth

Thirsty. Dreamed I ate. Bit orb. Didn't work.

> -BA

### March the Twentieth

Threw orb at wall. It bounces. Face hurts.

> -BA

### March the Twenty-First

Hissing. Even louder. Ears prickly.

> -BA

### March the Twenty-Third

Hit orb with staff. Heard crack. Orb rolled down hallway. Unsure if staff okay but can still hear orb rolling. Will retrieve.

> -BA

Addition: I made the orb do something. Elaboration to come when sober. 


	15. Week 13

### March the Twenty-Fourth

It is my pleasure to be able to write to you fully once more. Yesterday's orb endeavor was quickly followed by its retrieval and my subsequent retreat to an area where the smell was less concentrated. Though I doubt it is truly paint or nail polish like I believed, it is certainly altering my mental status.  
I must wonder if the noises I heard were hallucinations akin to Sarah, or if they were real. Sarah herself is unable to speak reliably of their status, and so I will assume real until proven otherwise. I must not misjudge the distance I stand from death.  
What I can confirm is the orb, and my ears. Though I do not know its full nature, it tastes of something extremely bitter, is capable of bouncing despite not being rubbery at all and produced a dim glow once I hit it with my staff. My staff now has a rather large crack, which I can repair with a working once I have rested, so I am not concerned.  
The light the orb creates is enough for my new eyes to see by, allowing me to write this now.  
Which brings me to my ears. Exploring them with a sound mind shows that they are growing fur and lengthening. I could be worried about this, but instead I will take comfort in the serpentine noises being farther than they sounded. Where my eyes fail me, my ears will pick up the slack.  
I cannot keep the orb lit if there is danger, as it is nothing but a beacon.  
Mastering navigation with my ears would also allow me to avoid running into so many walls, which would be much appreciated.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### March the Twenty-Fifth

I continue to wander in the dark, stuffing the orb into my pack the moment I hear any sound of movement. I can feel them getting sharpen, more distinct, as my ears become more bestial. It feels almost dirty, magic worming its way into my mind to ensure I can utilize this new feature of mine.  
It has, thankfully, kept its distance otherwise. It feels like a passive thing in this area, watching but afraid to touch anything more than it already has. I must wonder, then, if it has intentions when it comes to changing me.  
With my new eyes, the shade in these tunnels means little to me so long as there is a sliver of light. With my sharpened teeth, I am more easily able to consume any meaty substance I discover down here. Now, with my changing ears, I am able to listen for danger and accurately wait for it to pass me by.  
If it is intent on aiding me through this place, for what purpose, and why not give me echolocation to go with these ears?  
Hearing this giant serpent is nice but I have still run into multiple walls.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### March the Twenty-Sixth

Echolocations attempts are going as well as my previous stealth attempts. Perhaps I am simply not cut out for any of this.  
I wanted to be a researcher; I was interning in the National Institute of Chronology and hoped to gain a position there once I had completed my studies. Alas, even if I returned, I must question if they would want me, altered by magic as I am. Corruption would be a concern, as would the twisting journey of my mental state. Unless I burned this journal, or otherwise destroyed it, my breakdowns remain clear for the world to see.  
The threat of losing all I have worked for outside doesn't particularly bother me. Given my circumstances, I am sure I wouldn't have had long to enjoy it anyway.  
I'll turn my attention away from this for now; I have other things to worry about, though they are not new. I continue to hear the serpentine creature and I continue to hide from it.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

PS. Yes, Sarah, I enjoy your company but it doesn't exactly mean anything good.

### March the Twenty-Seventh

Short entry today. The paint smell is thick in the air but I feel I must continue.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### March the Twenty-Eighth

It is getting more difficult to breathe, but I feel this is the way I must go. Some force beyond me, or perhaps simply the encompassing magic of this place, urges me onwards into the stench.  
It is difficult to think. I feel nauseous and my mouth tastes as if it's full of matches. Combined with the smell of paint, I am more than mildly concerned.  
Still, I go on.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### March the Twenty-Ninth

I am navigating mostly in the dark. Whatever serpent is about is pursuing me relentlessly.  
Even so, I find myself wishing for water.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### March the Thirtieth

I feel as though the serpent is breathing down my neck, rotten exhales muddying the smell of paint.  
Suffocation would not be a pleasant way to die.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth


	16. Week 14.0

### March the Thirty-First

Wait a day, reader. I myself have had a harrowing one.

> -BA


	17. Week 14.5

### April the First

To fully get across the events of yesterday, I must explain some things. Typically, I wouldn't bother, but in this darkness, and earlier in that void, it became clear to me that I am not writing this for myself, and I should keep that in mind, else my journal becomes one of those hated historical documents with twenty foot notes on every page.  
To start, there are few creatures in this world with a deadly gaze. Most of them belonged to the hidden world, and went with it. The two that remained did so because of their manner of reproduction.  
The cockatrice is a draconic chicken, born from a cock and hatched by a toad. Its gaze is deadly, ire inherited from its sire concentrated enough to kill.  
It is, however, rather small and typically kills only housepets before it itself is slain.  
The basilisk is another story. Though it shares an origin with the cockatrice, and is birthed the same with parents reversed, it becomes something else entirely. A basilisk mothered by a toad is a horrible thing, akin to a slimy, many legged cockatrice. Mothered by a snake, however, encourages it to someday shed this skin to become the king of serpents it long aspired to be.  
I came face to face with one such creature today.  
I felt its breath upon my face, the tongue flicking, exploring.  
I nearly fainted, for the venom itself was the cause of the vicious smell that has been making me sick for some time.  
But in the dark, I could not see it. I could hear it, its scales shifting across the stone. Each movement was monumental within my new ears, and with them I could make my way around the beast.  
I know it by its size, by its venom, by the nigh indescribable crowing hiss it let off as I fled. It did not pursue.  
Perhaps the magic in this place has made me too weasely for the basilisk's taste.  
Encounter aside, I am still in the dark, but the smell is receding even now. The basilisk hunts elsewhere, and perhaps I am leaving its territory.  
Good riddance, little king.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Second

The angle at which I am walking is becoming steeper, and I must rely on my staff in order to keep my balance. Because of this, I am unable to utilize the orb, except to drop it down the hill and attempt to follow it.  
I have now lost the orb.  
While I have gotten better at writing in the dark, I am afraid that I will be keeping my entries short until i have found another light source or retrieved the orb.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Third

I may have broken my nose while attempting further pursuit of the orb.  
If I weren't so unafraid of death, I would urge myself to be more careful. As I do not like the idea of death anyway and Sarah is reprimanding me for what I have just written, I will exercise it more in the future.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Fourth

I have recovered the orb. It settled at the base of a door, which seems to be some sort of dyed wood. It seems fairly sturdy, and does not budge when I push on it. The handle, unfortunately, is missing.  
I am tempted to try a working on it, to restore it to a previous, complete state. Previous attempts at such workings on the environment, however, tell me to take care when doing so.  
I am unused to not being able to rewind full objects. Most entities show little resistance to reverting to a previous state, particularly if they have been damaged. The threads of magic within them seem to become aware of my purpose, and are more than happy to aid me. This place, however, has proved itself hostile.  
I will search for other ways out, and attempt a working only if there is no other choice.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Fifth

I have been unsuccessful in finding an alternate path out of this area, or at least a safe one. The smell of paint wards me away, back to the broken door.  
There is no food for me here. There is no water. I need to leave but the door here blocks my way. My strength is not enough to break the door, and clearly rolling the orb down the slope has done little to damage the door. This could imply that the destruction of the handle was calculated, perhaps done with tool. In my working, perhaps I will see hints of what occurred.  
But I could not commit to it today. Once bitten, twice shy, as the saying goes, and tonight I will sit, and gather myself.  
I can only hope that my bravery, as I had with the skeletal guard, rises to the occasion.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Sixth

Ça a brûlé.


	18. Week 15

### April the Seventh

Je voulais tout oublier, mais ça revient sans cesse.

### April the Eighth

Arrête de le toucher, idiot.

### April the Ninth

I still do not speak French, but looking through my journal, whatever writes with my hands is rather rude.  
I write this as I wake up, and as I hear the movement of animals, I must attend to that. Perhaps I will also be able to find water.  
\---  
I have located a source of food and drink. This area is a winding pathway, bordered on all sides by enclosure type areas. Many of these are empty and broken, but the animals they may have once held seem to have created a unique ecosystem. Some sort of light trickles down from above, though I highly doubt it is real. Perhaps it is like those lights used in the old world, for those forests that needed to thrive far from any sun.  
I assume this is where the basilisk hunts, when it needs to. There must be another path into this place, a large enough passage to allow it access between the dark place and this one.  
Regardless, I have survived, and will continue to do so. Sarah seems proud of me.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Tenth

I have been exploring this area at my leisure, having yet to find anything dangerous to me. The animals here are mostly of a docile sort, feeding upon the odd foliage that has taken over.  
I have encountered that refuse of flesh and blue fur, though much of is missing and rotted. It has been so long since that cold prison, but I still recognize it.  
Perhaps here I will find the creature which creates it.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Eleventh

Intending on staying here for some time, I began to look for materials to create some form of shelter. While I doubt rain is a concern, it would be nice to have some sort of shelter. All the places that may have once served as such for animals or visitors are occupied or destroyed, though I have located some sort of 'nest.' I must put it in quotation marks as this was clearly not the home of any animal, though I find it unsuited for my own habitation. Some part of me feels like it would be an intrusion.  
The 'nest' consists of now rotted leaves and a myriad of other soft substances, though time has left them ruined for any sort of comfort. There are burn marks all around it, inconsistent with a possible fire pit, though there is evidence of one several paces away. Whoever made this nest clearly found comfort in fire, and given the last time I saw stone burned, I think I will do no workings on this place.  
Instead, I located a small outcropping and have been piling up leaves and such to create a sort of bed. It is the most comfortable thing I will sleep on for some time, barring the extremely unlikely situation in which I find a bed.  
While I hate to give more of my own time to this place, I feel I need to take some time to relax and collect myself, and to recover from my near starvation in the dark maze.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Twelfth

I continue to recover and explore this odd place. Though I often find signs of previous habitation, I have little to report for the moment.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Thirteenth

I believe that I have found the area in which the caretakers of this menagerie previously resided in. Much of it has been destroyed, burned and crushed by some force I do not, and would not like to, know.  
I do not want to enter. The magic around it is deep and muggy, forcing me to drag my feet should I take any steps towards its nexus. Something is rotted in there.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth


	19. Week 16

### April the Fourteenth

I have not found anything more of interest. The exit to this place eludes me, though now I wonder if it is within the buildings I have chosen not to explore.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Fifteenth

I heard the explosions again today as I was reading through earlier days. It has only been months, but I found myself in the mood to reminisce.  
In doing so, I have discovered that I am a fool.  
The explosions, the flesh, all of it, is evidence that there are prayerhounds in this place.  
The blue fur threw me off, yes. The prayerhounds I have heard of are colored like the sand near which they live, but I know no other animal which sheds its flesh both violently and periodically. I have never heard of them to engage in this activity alone, however, though I suppose they are merely making do in this odd place, where life must do the blasphemous to survive.  
I must wonder how they came to exist down here, and why, but that is a problem for some other time, and perhaps someone who is more learned in the ways of animals.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Sixteenth

I contemplated attempting to create a garden before realizing I have little idea of where to even start with that.  
I'll stick to the small animals I find here as a source of food; I have the teeth for it, anyway.  
Sarah seems bothered by my lack of exploration. It's nice here. I don't feel very threatened anymore, and if I must be down here, than I may as well spend time somewhere safe.

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Seventeenth

On second thought, perhaps I will attempt a garden. What could it hurt?  
I'll need to locate seeds, of course, and clear a space near the shelter I have set up. Perhaps I can use the offal of the prayerhound to fertilize my few crops.  
(There is a small drawing of what must be the blueprints to a garden. None of the patches are labeled.)

> Signed,  
>  Blake Aberforth

### April the Eighteenth

I spent the whole day searching for things for my garden. Sarah tells me I'm wasting time.  
Am I?  
Comfort isn't a waste of time; I am sure of it.

> Signed,  
>  Blke Aberfoth

### April the Nineteenth

I have been breaking sticks apart to make a little fence. Though I still have nothing to plant, it looks very nice. Being able to make something that will last longer than a day has been nice, and the stability is relaxing. Before, I would be imagining what next threat I may have to deal with, but unless the Basilisk enters this area, I am safe.

> Signed,  
>  Blak Aerfort

### April the Twentieth

Sarah didn't talk to me at all today. She's always been stubborn, and it's not like her idea is very good anyway. Outside of this area is a danger I don't care for at all, and she wants me to leave. She keeps arguing that we're meant to keep going, that there's something at the bottom of whatever this is (for it is surely not a catacombs; that is clear to me now), but I have doubts that it's still worth it.  
The magic out there is wild, hateful, but in here it is nice and comforting. If I were to leave, or at least explore the caretaker's area, I will enter that hateful magic again and surely perish.  
I want to be safe.  
I am safe here.

> Signed,  
>  blk aerfh


	20. Week 17

### April the Twenty-First

I found some seeds today, and planted them as well as I could. I mixed the offal of the prayerhound in with the soil, hoping to fertilize it. I wonder what they'll grow into.

> Signed,  
>  bak aberfh

### April the Twenty-Second

Sarah still isn't speaking to me. That's fine; I'm staying where it's safe and she'll simply have to get over it.  
I worked more on the garden today, and made plans to create tools for myself to make it easier.

> Signed,  
>  bak abrfrt

### April the Twenty-Third

I feel a gentle wind here, though I know not where it comes from. It's nice to have some rest.

> Signed,  
>  blk brfrth

### April the Twenty-Fourth

I am safe here.

> Signed,  
>  bk brfh

### April the Twenty-Fifth

I feel the breeze and I am safe.

### April the Twenty-Sixth

I can stay here. I am safe.

### April the Twenty-Seventh

I can stay here.  
I will stay here.  
Where it is safe.


	21. Week 18

### April the Twenty-Eighth

i know noT wHat to do  
there are a great many things hIdden from me  
but that will not matter if i am Safe

### April the Twenty-Ninth

I am Safe

### April the Thirtieth

i Wonder wHen there will bE something new  
of couRse  
things that arE new may not be safe

### May the First

i keep waTcHing for what i might find  
i should not go from hEre  
outside holds danger

### May the Second

hold this life within a cup  
let it Drip dRip out  
to fAll amonGst the sOil  
it feeds them Nicely  
if they feed i will be safe

### May the Third

i had Often woNdered what could  
lie beyond this plaCe  
what waited for mE to find  
but i cannot leave safety

### May the Fourth

ShouLd i fadE away  
perhaPs That would be unwise  
beyond is unsafe  
i must stay here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> put this whole week in one instead of splitting it bc it works better as is  
> Reminder that you can send prompts and challenges to: https://curiouscat.me/speedydoggo


	22. Week 19

### May the Fifth

there's blood. i'm bleeding. when did i do this  
did i do this?  
i thought i was safe

### May the Sixth

My head feels fuzzy. It's hard to think. I just want to be here forever.  
Though I believe something bit me. I don't know. It's difficult to be sure of anything really.

### May the Seventh

I'm reading through previous entries, attempting to make sense of it all. I was doing something.

I feel sick.

### May the Eighth

(The handwriting is shakey.)

Am I dying? I believed I could have a little more time. Wasn't this place safe?

### May the Ninth

I feel so light and airy, but I don't believe that is how I am supposed to feel. The entries before seem so much more grounded, and I must have written them, but the thought of doing so is foreign to me.

### May the Tenth

I have been shakey all of today, though I know that I have been eating and drinking. I feel ill, as if something inside me is burning to come out. I've thought to try, to shove fingers down my throat to attempt to purge whatever it is inside me, but even then nothing will come out.  
I could scarcely make it out of my little nest today for fear that I would fall and hurt myself.  
If this place is supposed to be safe, minus mysterious bites, then I dearly hope that whatever this is will pass without my leaving here.  
There is something about the bite that I wish to tell you, but words become lost to me whenever I attempt.

### May the Eleventh

I want to write down what is happening to me but I feel as though I shouldn't, as if doing so would be a betrayal of some deep concept I know nothing about.


	23. Week 20

### May the Twelfth

I am not alone. I can feel it, someone moving near me. It is a repetition of the past, a returning to some long time ago, but oddly it doesn't feel as if it's been some time.  
It feels warm and safe.

### May the Thirteenth

I walked down the hill to the destroyed buildings, where I suspected that the previous caretakers of this place had once dwelled. The magic here is raw, ravaged still by whatever happened.  
I feel heat on my face, the breath of the displeased. It feels similar to the presence I felt yesterday, but only in the sense that holds the essence of fire in it.  
Stone does not burn easily. I feel disconnected from many facts but this one is so impersonal that I may still feel confident about it. To burn, no, melt stone in this way would take a tremendoes amount of power. Given that the plantlife here does not display any signs of being scorched back once upon a time, I can only assume that the caster was as skilled as they were powerful.  
It is odd. I feel hardly any concern for my disconnection from myself, but I feel such an intense need to purse this caster, whose flames I feel I have met before.

### May the Fourteenth

I feel the threads of time curling about this place, confusing themselves. I, too, am confused. All at once I feel life in this place, and then death, and fire, and cold burning hatred that dwells deeper than anything else. All of it is focused on these ruins I dare not enter.  
I feel myself pulled back to that garden. It would be so nice to go back to that and left myself drift into safety. Nothing there would be so complex.

### May the Fifteenth

I want to enter these ruins, to take hold of these tangled threads and sort them out. I want, more than anything, to see what happens.  
A part of me, perhaps the part that eclipses the rest of me, thinks that I should leave this well alone.

Alone.  
I shouldn't be alone, should I? If I look back through my entries, I was not alone inside my head, yet I am now.  
I am unable to judge the meaning of this.

### May the Sixteenth

I do not believe that this bite is healing well.

### May the Seventeenth

The walls of the ruins are red but they were not painted so.

### May the Eighteenth

This is such an incredible place, a wide open space, a   
I can't write the word  
I can barely think it  
Things are becoming foggy again


	24. Week 21

### May the Nineteenth

Blake Aberforth  
For so long I signed my entries in this manner. It is odd, then, that I have not cared to do so. I do not feel attached to this name, as if it were someone else, but I write with the same hand as he, recall much of the same feelings as he. When he describes the way his body has changed, I can inspect myself and see the evidence.  
But his name does not feel as though it is mine. In a way, this is concerning. A name is the symbol of a person, and to forget it is to forget the fullness of a person. Without a name, what differentiates me from the prayerhounds around me?  
I remember all the things Blake remembers, and I am all the things Blake describes himself as. Even if I am disconnected to his name, I am connected to his life.  
I suppose I should stop using third person. I don't know if I am some immaculate replacement or if I am the true Blake Aberforth, but I'll make this work.  
Without a name, magic can have whatever way it likes with me, and we've learned that its way is not one I particularly enjoy.

### May the Twentieth

I am gathering supplies once more, drying meat and considering my sources of water. My clothes, unfortunately, were not built for travel and are wearing thin. I may have to take measures to alter them for longevity, or even cast a working to return them to their original state.  
As much as I would like to stay here where it is safe, that burning presence has crept into me. I feel it still, no matter where I am. The magic in this area dislikes it, and I can feel it snarling at what I feel to be a dangerous intruder. I myself do not mind it. That firey spark curls within my breast nicely, my own magic coiling about it like a lonesome lover. My head feels clearer for it, though the fog awaits at the edge of my mind. If the spark dies out and no longer burns it away, I will surely fall prey to the magic once more.  
I wrote yesterday about taking on the identity of Blake. He and I are not the most healthy, particularly not now, but weak though I am, I cannot afford to rely on magic. It may always present itself as a solution, but I must not take it. I will spend tomorrow creating myself a weapon.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth

### May the Twenty-First

My first few attempts as a dagger are unsuccessful, but I shall push on.  
I approached the ruins today and felt the hot air on my face. The fire I have taken inside me yearns to reconnect with its creator.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth

### May the Twenty-Second

It burns so hot that I fear I may perish. In a way, it is tantalizing, a sense of danger pushing through the fog.  
Tomorrow I will take whatever knife I have and enter the ruins.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth

### May the Twenty-Third

The ruins tower before me, and with the fire within me, I gazed into its past.  
As I walked, I felt pain, burning sensations scampering over my skin. Around me, people burned to death. The stones themselves melted, changed. My gait slowed once, and I turned my head to watch some manner of tank burst apart, the sand inside becoming glass.  
There was screaming, horrid screaming, and I could not fathom the pure suffering it represented, the suffering it matched.  
The fires were of vengeance, of some deeper pain thrown back at those causing it. I could feel that visceral emotion, seeking to destroy everything so completely that it could not be recognizable.  
I walked further, into the past, walking the fires wind back, to the keepers at their posts. Two walked past me, through me, carrying a tall, gangly man. I turned back to watch, and time resumed its march.  
The man lurched forward. Fire swirled out from beneath his coat, and I stepped out of the ruins.  
It's cold here. The air feels thick, but my mind feels clear. I still don't feel quite right, but there is one thing I wish to inscribe into my mind.  
I am Blake Aberforth, disciple of Kronos. I am not afraid of death for I am already dying,  
and I have a knife.

### May the Twenty-Fourth

I find myself in a city, the passage back to where I was before marked with a sign I cannot read. I still feel flushed from before, and have removed my robes in an attempt to dissipate this odd heat.  
I have reassessed myself to confirm that there are no new changes, though my fingernails seem to be slightly different. In what way, I am not sure. Unlike some, I pay little attention to my nails.  
I am going to lay on this cool floor for the rest of the day. I do not feel particularly threatened here, though perhaps the magic has yet to realize my presence.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth

### May the Twenty-Fifth

I am still very hot, and very tired, and faintly realizing that I may have leapt before I looked. I may need to back track into the enclosures to collect more food and water.  
That is a problem for tomorrow.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth


	25. Week 22.0

### May the Twenty-Sixth

I have backtracked to gather more food. The city, with its clear and uncaring magic, is much more preferable, but it has no ready sources of food or water. I am experimenting tonight in making a water skin, though I have never given this thought and am working off of nothing but the half remembered idea that they were originally made from internal organs.  
I do not believe there is anything large enough for that, though. I am seeing what I may do.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth

### May the Twenty-Seventh

I am still attempting to make a proper waterskin. I've moved myself from a based in the enclosures and settled in the city. A small amount of exploring allowed me to take shelter in a building whose purpose I am unable to find. It is devoid of furniture and I have no incentive to continue searching other buildings.  
Many of them are burned or otherwise destroyed, an odd feat considering that they are mostly stone. I am reminded of the man I saw as I walked through the conjuration of the building's destruction.  
I must wonder who he was, to command fire of such fierceness.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth

### May the Twenty-Eighth

I've still been thinking about him. As I passed through the ruins, a plume of smoke fell from my lips. I waited for a moment, as if I could reconnect to that strange, burning man. In a way, I miss him, though we have never met. I have only walked in his footsteps, seen his handiwork.  
I should like to meet him, to know him more intimately than as two ships in the night.  
My robes are destroyed enough that I felt no shame in using my knife to cut the sleeves off. I will keep them in my bag, but I feel safer now that I have done so. My arms and hands have been itching recently, and given early experiences, I should expect them to be changing. I can only hope I do not lose any dexterity as this goes on.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth

### May the Twenty-Ninth

Nothing of note today. I have come to the conclusion that I will need a larger creature to create a useful water skin, or some sort of needle. I will begin working on this with the numerous bones I have at my disposal.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth

### May the Thirtieth

I did not expect to have notable arm hair. I only wish the circumstances were different.

### May the Thirty-First

I hear barking coming from the enclosure. The idea of entering the enclosure tomorrow worries me.


	26. Week 22.5

### June the First

I steeled myself and entered the enclosure once more today.  
I was met with a prayerhound.  
The flesh of its torso has mostly regrown, though within its ribcage I could still feel its beating heart. It gazed at me with eyes that belonged to no dumb animal, and I felt myself known.  
Feel.  
I wrote feel.  
I suppose that is the correct word. Our hearts beat together, for the same purpose, the same larger purpose.  
Whatever is at the bottom of these catacomb is the reason they pray, and the reason I am here.  
We parted ways. I cannot waste any more time. I must descend into the city, in pursuit of the secrets below.  
Perhaps in pursuit of the burning man.  
It is possible they are one and the same.

> Signed,  
> Blake Aberforth


End file.
